Cold Blood
by darkheart.tiger
Summary: Darlayah is an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood - desperately trying to forget her duty as a Blade to avoid mingling with her greatest fear - dragons. Yet as a Dragonborn appears along with the World-Eater himself, she must decide whether to overcome her terror or allow the world to succumb to Alduin and his horde.
1. Chapter 1 - Knife in the Dark

Rain beat the wooden walls of the building - Breezehome – assaulting the structures with all the force of nature's fury. The sound of such a beating was horrifically loud, seemingly threatening and almost… _intimidating._ In the fire pit, the roaring flame rivalled the noise of the weather – the light sending shadows of the room's furniture dancing across the walls like fragile demons.

A young woman, twisting and writhing in her sleep with every noise, stayed awake despite every attempt to block out the wrath of the Gods. Ever so recent memories circled around her mind – her only distraction in the horrid night.

She recalled her hunt. Her kill. Her need for blood. Her need for _death._ She recalled the moment her blade collided with ripe flesh. The moment the corpse dropped to the floor. The moment she fled with rippling laughter as she escaped the scene before the guards noticed-

 ** _{_** ** _C R_** **_A_** ** _S H }_**

The heavy rain morphed violently into a thunderstorm – the awful sound echoing with immense volume throughout Breezehome. It was as though the Nine Divines were determined to keep the young woman awake, though in her circumstances, it may have been for the best.

Thunder clapped with all the rage of an ancient dragon – threatening to wake the entire population of the Whiterun hold. The young woman growled to herself, her eyes snapping open to reveal her pale blue eyes.

Her name was Darlayah – Darlayah Dawn-Bringer. A Breton she was, a race from the lands of High Rock – at the ripe age of twenty eight, she had become rather settled down in Skyrim. She was a feared assassin – a respected member of the dying Dark Brotherhood - and held many associations with guilds and deities, including the scorned Daedra. Yet even so, nobody could put this persona to her face. She was unrecognisable. To the land of Skyrim, Darlayah was just another face in the crowd.

 ** _{_** ** _C R_** **_A_** ** _C K }_**

More thunder. More lightning. It was like a never-ending stream of the stuff of nightmares – yet it was this that kept the true nightmares at bay. Darlayah had never been a good sleeper, for her mind was constantly plagued by a memory so horrific that even an assassin could wake up with a cry.

With a defeated sigh, the Breton rose from her bed with a half-hearted jolt. She trudged wearily past her housecarl Lydia's room, before storming down the stairs to the table in the corner of her living room. She flung herself onto the seat like a prisoner's corpse – her head hitting the table's surface with a _thump._ She groaned as the pain hit her, before a sudden crack of thunder startled her. She wondered if there was something to disperse the storm – perhaps a Shout?

"A Shout?" You may ask, but we do not speak of the mere screech of an angry mortal. Shouts as in Thu'um – the legendary voice of the Dovah, the dragons. It is a power rarely seen and a power used by few. She was no master, but Darlayah had experience with the mythical ability, for she was acquainted with the Masters themselves – the Greybeards. It is a long, complicated tale of their meeting – one which can wait until another day.

As Darlayah slowly raised her head, a thin sliver of golden light beneath the front door captured her attention. The thunder claps had now stopped, and the rain was dying down to a gentle trickle. She had been awake _all night._ Whether Lydia had done the same was something Darlayah had no interest in finding out. She had more pressing matters on her mind – for example, her growling stomach. The eruption of thunder had drowned out the sounds of hunger, and so she didn't truly notice until now.

Reaching for a sweet roll in a nearby bread-sack, Darlayah munched away with a frustrated expression. A yawn was audible from upstairs, a signal that Lydia had awoken or at least decided that sleep was unattainable.

"Morning, my Thane." Lydia called downstairs, before she herself came down to sit beside Darlayah. The Breton merely grunted in response, before finishing her rather lazy breakfast. "How did you sleep, my Thane?" Lydia pressed on, and Darlayah forced a smile onto her face before turning to face her housecarl.

"I slept alright – the storm kept me up for a bit though." Darlayah lied half-heartedly, idly tracing the lines in the wood of the table. Lydia seemed to either ignore the lie or actually believe it.

Suddenly, Darlayah perked up and reached into the pocket of her tunic, and pulled out a scrap of paper with a memo written on it. Lydia raised a brow.

"Lydia, I've got some _work_ to do." Darlayah drawled, a grin slowly creeping across her face as Lydia realised just what job Darlayah had to go and do.

She knew everything about Darlayah – her affiliations, her guilds, her… _jobs_ – everything. It was usually Lydia who helped ensure Darlayah was always thought to be innocent within the Whiterun hold. By spreading rumours of good deeds and destroying tales of wrongdoings, Lydia usually helped Darlayah maintain a decent image. Elsewhere was a different story. Sometimes, Lydia felt rather fearful of the Breton – staying in the same building as an _assassin_ was hardly a comforting thing.

"I'll be gone a while – hopefully no more than a few days. I'll probably be staying in the Sanctuary after." Darlayah mumbled as she stuffed the note back in her tunic. "Now – I better get ready."

Wandering tiredly back up the stairs with the remains of a sweet roll stuffed into her jaws, Darlayah decided to wear her classic attire – black and red mage robes. Not only did they feel comfortable, they also looked rather sinister. The perfect choice for a stylish killer.

It took moments to throw on the simple clothing, and as she considered her task ahead, she decided an amulet would help her. Her hand wandered to her bedside table, and opening the drawer, her eyes darted from necklace to ring to circlet in search of the perfect one. There were fire resistance necklaces, rings to aid the one handed skill, circlets that improved magical skill, and various amulets from the deities. Her dull blue eyes lingered upon the amulet of Mara, the goddess of love, and with an amused grin across her face she decided to wear it – just out of mere curiosity to see if any would notice.

It was customary in Tamriel to wear such an amulet if one were single and available – however, being so busy with murder, Darlayah couldn't ever find time (or the actual desire) to be with anyone at all. And so she used the amulet for entertainment – finding the awfully cheesy pickup lines of many a man and woman rather hilarious.

Throwing a leather satchel across her shoulder, the Breton then began to eye her weapons. Of course, she ignored the gifts of cheap iron weapons and the 'I forgot to bring a dagger so I bought the cheapest one' weapons and went straight to her prized possession – a pair of stolen Daedric daggers. They were her pride and joy, and she rarely used anything else.

Last of all, she added the finishing touch – dark red paint. She quickly grabbed a tub of the stuff from her drawer, and smeared it downwards across her eyes to make her face appear differently shaped. It was always good to conceal her identity whenever she went out on 'hunts' – any decent assassin is always careful to remain concealed!

With her disguise on, she peered out of her window and saw the emptiness in the streets. _Perfect._ The horrific storm had also passed entirely at this point. Now only the faintest mist of rain danced upon the stone paths, and even that rain looked as though it would disperse soon.

It took only a few minutes to leave and reach the stables just outside the city, and there, Darlayah found her gaze frozen upon the horizon. The mountains in the distance were surrounded by an eery steel grey mist, and the clouds just covered their peaks. The fields and meadows surrounding Whiterun were blooming with flowers, and the tall grasses seemed to glitter in the rain. The skies were painted beautiful hues of pink and gold as the sun began its slow ascent, and the faintest glimmer of the last stars could be seen above.

Quickly shaking her head and turning to face the stables, Darlayah quickly noted her palomino stallion – Dagur. He was absolutely covered in mud, and upon seeing his Breton rider, began to trot around the small fenced off stable in excitement. Rolling her eyes with a grin, Darlayah went to find a wooden bucket and some water. This old horse needed a rather big rinse.

* * *

After rinsing off her horse and mounting, Darlayah had quickly referred to her note to see where she would be headed. Dawnstar - it was a small northern town that was very rarely heard of, for nothing interested usually occurred. _Perhaps my task will give them something to talk about,_ Darlayah thought to herself, grinning.

Darlayah found herself humming as she rode at a steady pace along the snowy paths. She had been riding for an hour, and so she was beginning to grow both bored and impatient. Since humming was offering very little entertainment, she decided to develop the tune into a song.

 _"I have died every day, just_

 _Waiting for you to come home._

 _Lying on my bed, all alone,_

 _And you still haven't come home._

 _It's been a long, cold year,_

 _And my heart grows restless,_

 _Waiting for you to come home._

 _The stone floors are cracking,_

 _And you still haven't come home._

 _And the bird's song is a crow call-_

 _A sharp rap on the door._

 _And the crow's call is a bird's song –_

 _The dagger ends all."_

The bitterly cold wind had no effect upon her clear, sweet voice – yet the winds dimmed the volume and offered only howling as a response to her song. Snowflakes began to gather upon Darlayah's garments, the black slowly becoming an icy, glittering white, and her red paint dripped like thick blood as the snow melted upon her cheeks. As the wind howled louder and the snow pricked her skin like ice-cold needles, the Breton retreated from a song to a hum, and soon, was forced into silence by the ever continuing onslaught from the skies.

* * *

Dawnstar. It was unusually quiet today. The winds had finally died down and snow no longer fell from the dark clouds hovering above – offering Darlayah some relief. Dismounting her horse, she strode with a false air of confidence, another addition to her disguise.

She quickly recalled the details on the note she had been given, and soon, she was scouting out the address. The building was hardly difficult to find, in fact, it was only a few metres from where she dismounted. A grin spread across her face as she wandered over with heavy strides.

The door was unlocked, oddly, and so Darlayah was able to enter immediately. Only silence was there to greet her. Shutting the door, she eyed the area around her, noting the unusual abundance of raw meat dripping with blood. It was everywhere – on plates, by the fireplace, in sacks stained with blood – and this made the assassin rather suspicious.

She then noted the single bed in the corner – this would mean only one person should be here. Yet the home was empty. Either they were out, or the target was-

 ** _{_** ** _C L_** ** _A_** ** _N G }_**

A sharp metallic sound suddenly sounded from beneath Darlayah's feet – as if coming from under the floor. Her nose wrinkled as she realised there was a hidden cellar, and quickly, she set to work finding the entrance. Under the bed, behind the fireplace, triggered by a candle – the options for triggering the door to the cellar beneath were endless.

She started to become frustrated, and soon realised there was indeed someone – or some _thing_ – underneath the house. It could only be the target! Thinking fast, Darlayah noted the empty wardrobe near the bed. She ran towards it, her thick boot suddenly thrusting into the wood and sending it flying back into a descending staircase. A screech was heard from the room below, and Darlayah furrowed her brows. That was no _human_.

Suddenly, a beast with flesh greyer than stone erupted from the doorway and threw the Breton across the room. Thick, beastly arms ending with inch long talons lifted her with ease, holding her with a crushing grip. The piercing acid yellow gaze was locked upon its target as it squeezed, causing the Breton to cry out in absolute pain. Darlayah could feel she was breaking, and knew she had to do something.

And so, she Shouted.

" ** _YOL!_** " she cried, sending a burst of amber flames rocketing at the face of the monstrous Gargoyle, causing it to throw Darlayah down to the floor. It desperately tried to extinguish the flames upon it's skull, and thinking fast, the assassin used this to her advantage.

Pulling out her two daggers, Darlayah thrust the blades into the abdomen of the writhing beast, before twisting them both with tremendous effort. The gargoyle screeched, before erupting into violet ashes. Gasping for air, Darlayah knelt down for a moment, completely in shock as to what had just happened.

Nazir, the Redguard who gave her this contract and the note with the details, never mentioned anything about a Gargoyle. Or even anything about someone who could conjure such powerful beasts. She was lucky to have been able to Shout – without that ability, she would have perished.

Getting to her feet – now extremely irritated – Darlayah noted the cupboard. Where there were conjured beasts, there would be a conjurer. Crinkling up her nose in fury, she bolted down the stairway – blades glistening with the thick, grey blood of the Gargoyle – to find something rather amusing.

The conjurer was lying in a corner, curled up and whimpering like a frightened mutt. Grinning madly, Darlayah did her best dramatic entrance – swinging her blades in each palm before stepping forwards. Slowly. Menacingly. Loudly. The conjurer cried out.

"Please! P-please don't hurt me – I beg you!" he whined, but Darlayah could only laugh at his pathetic attempts. "I didn't k-know it wouldn't work! He said it w-would work!"

Darlayah stopped laughing. _He?_ Who was 'he'? Was this a set up?

"Who the fuck are you on about?" she hissed, increasing her pace and pressing her boot down upon the hand of the conjurer, crushing the bones of his fingers. He cried out in pain and terror, but still didn't talk. "I said – who is 'he'?!" she lashed out again, her boot releasing his hand and coming crashing into the nose of the conjurer. He simply sat and whined once more. "Pathetic." With that, a blade sank deep into the throat of the man, before twisting free and leaving his head barely attached to his leaking neck. Blood spattered violently, coating his dark purple robes with a sinister crimson shine.

Now, the priority was getting out unseen. The gargoyle had made a lot of noise, and Darlayah's Shout was hardly silent either. She even had blood spattered on her clothes now – and her blades weren't exactly clean too. Growling to herself, she wiped her blades on the conjurer's already bloody robes and quickly rushed upstairs to find some clothes she could steal.

Luckily, the conjurer had a load of old tunics stashed in a drawer beside his bed – and most seemed fairly small. Perfect for a little assassin.

She found some black mage robes with a massive grey skull inked on the front – they were a tolerable fit, and so she folded her blood covered robes and hid them in her leather satchel. It was bulging and looked odd, but she didn't care – there was no reason for Darlayah to stay in Dawnstar, so nobody should notice so long as she leaves quick.

She hastily sheathed her daggers and left the house with a very casual demeanour – luckily, the streets were still quiet, so her escape was slick and easy.

As she rode from the town, she couldn't help but hiss to herself. She could have died here today - just because some idiot couldn't give full details of her target. It's hardy difficult to tell if someone was a conjurer – the robes are a rather big giveaway.

Nazir would hear about this – and she hoped that she'd be given the permission to end the miserable life of whoever tried to kill her.

* * *

" **AHHHH! BOTHER AND BEFUDDLE!"** As the two came past the north of Whiterun, a shrill male voice pierced the air and Dagur reared, sending Darlayah's torso flying back as she scrambled to hold on.

She quickly calmed her horse, before dismounting and leading him instead – however, the male voice continued to freak the stallion.

" **STUCK.** ** _STUUUUUCK!_** **"**

Now feeling extremely frustrated, Darlayah led her horse with anger to where a wagon was clearly damaged and some man was leaping about as if in fury.

He looked like some sort of Imperial jester – he had the hat, the boots, the gloves and the clothes, so it kind of seemed he was here for his work. He seemed frustrated, so Darlayah approached cautiously – letting go of Dagur's halter so he would not be spooked again.

"Uh, sir? Is there a problem?" She asked, her fake confidence masking her tones. The jester turned, his furious facial expression calming somewhat. Darlayah kept her distance still, unsure what the man would be like.

"Ooohh! Poor Cicero is stuck, can't you _see?"_ He answered in exasperation, throwing his arms up dramatically. Darlayah raised a brow – this guy was _weird._ "I was transporting my dear, sweet Mother, you see! Well, not her – her corpse. She's quite dead. Heh." He chuckled, before sighing.

Darlayah shot a brief glance at the wagon, and noted the front wheel had come clean off. On the back of the wagon, a massive wooden crate lay – it was a bit too large to be a coffin, Darlayah noted. Unless this mother of his was rich – some Imperials could afford ridiculously large coffins. When she looked back at Cicero, he had a very hopeful look in his eyes.

"So…do you need help?" Darlayah instantly regret asking as the man leapt up with joy.

"Yesssss! The kind stranger can _certainly_ help!" He cried, his golden eyes wide with happiness.

Eying Cicero cautiously, Darlayah stepped over to the wheel, noting it really only needed a few simple tools to get back on the road. Yet she didn't have any tools at all.

She suddenly jumped – Cicero had poked her shoulder and she really wasn't expecting it. Darlayah quickly resumed her confident persona and stood to face the jester.

"Go to the farm!" He exclaimed, pointing wildly at the farm nearby. Darlayah had forgotten about old Lorieus and his farm – that man was hardly friendly. "Convince the old farmer to fix poor Cicero's wheel!" He begged, and Darlayah couldn't help but roll her eyes at his mock pout.

"Okay, fine. Wait here. Don't do anything stupid." She growled, yet the jester simply danced about in joy.

Lorieus was leaning against a stone wall watching as his wife tended to their crops, yet he immediately looked annoyed when he noticed Darlayah coming up his steps.

"Hey, there's some guy here with a broken wheel, and we were just wondering if you could lend us-" Darlayah was cut off immeditately, and Lorieus's wife quickly ran indoors.

"No, no and **no!** " Lorieus hissed, grabbing the shovel next to him and swinging it menacingly. "That little mad-man has asked me seven times already! _Seven_!" He growled, but soon, his furious expression switched to that of absolute terror.

Darlayah unsheathed her blades and held them both to his throat. "Sorry, was that a 'no' I heard?" She whispered, and Lorieus shook his head.

"I-I'll get my tools…" He mumbled before stumbling backwards and hastily finding his equipment. Darlayah grinned.

Entertainment was so easy to find nowadays.

She turned and headed back to Cicero, who was chuckling rather menacingly.

"Oohh, you are one of _those,_ hmm? So dangerous, so _sinister!"_ He grinned darkly, and Darlayah couldn't help but shrug, a grin forming on her own lips.

"Just couldn't help myself." Darlayah drawled, before turning to head back to Dagur.

Cicero suddenly grabbed her shoulder, turning her around and flinging a small coin purse into her hand. "Hail Sithis." He hissed in low tones.

Darlayah was shocked, to say the least – yet she couldn't dwell on the odd little man now, she had work to do. With a confused expression on her face, Darlayah mounted her horse, and continued to her destination – the Falkreath Sanctuary.

* * *

 _A few hours later._

Dagur halted. He knew exactly where they were, and he wasn't exactly fond of the place. His ears flipped backwards, and Darlayah comforted him with gentle words and neck strokes. As she leapt off her horse, she threw her hood back, allowing her entire face to be seen and her hair to escape and fall down upon her breast.

She approached the Sanctuary door, and waited for it to speak.

" _What…is the music…of life…"_ It drawled in whispering tones, and Darlayah gave the response.

"Silence, my brother."

" _Welcome…home…"_

The door swung open, and Darlayah strode inside. As the door slammed shut with a groan and a crack, the Breton noticed Astrid – the leader of the Sanctuary – was not anywhere to be seen. Curious, Darlayah wandered further in, and saw the members of the Brotherhood moving about various kinds of furniture. It was rather amusing to see the various assassins handling the beds and cabinets, so Darlayah decided to help them…or not.

"Hey, Veezara." She called out to the Argonian, who eyed Darlayah with his reptilian gaze. He had a massive bedside table in his arms, and he looked rather irritated. Darlayah grinned.

"Greetings, Dee. I see you are busy?" He muttered, however Darlayah could tell he was forcing back a grin.

"Yeah, I was just gonna go lie down. I'd loooove a good rest right now." She chuckled, and Veezara shook his head as he smiled. "I'll help you with that – where's it gonna go?"

"Oh, in the spare room." Veezara replied, looking rather relieved as Darlayah took the drawers into her arms.

"Right – I'll dump this there then."

"Thank you."

Darlayah trudged slowly to the spare room, a little confused as to why this isolated little room was suddenly being renovated. All the other assassins had a shared area for sleeping, and there were still empty beds so it couldn't be because there was a new recruit.

Inside the spare room, Astrid greeted Darlayah.

"Oh, there you are. Just dump that down here, please." Darlayah obeyed, and turned to face her leader.

"So…what's going on?" She asked, still really confused.

"The Keeper is arriving soon, and we are preparing his room. It's almost done – just a few more finishing touches are needed and it will be ready."

Darlayah thought for a moment, before realising she had known about this from a while ago.

The Keeper was the member of the Brotherhood who kept the corpse of the Night Mother intact. The Night Mother herself was the very being who controls the Brotherhood – so they say. It is said she 'speaks' to one individual called the Listener and gives them contracts – and it is the Keeper who can identify such a person. However, there hadn't been a Listener in a very long time. So having a Keeper was something that could turn the Brotherhood around and bring it back to power – if only they could find the Listener.

Shaking her head free from her thoughts, she left the room, and headed back to her own bed where she decided to rest. Yet just as she began to quietly read upon her bed, she suddenly heard a lot of commotion from the main part of the Sanctuary. Confused and also somewhat unsure, Darlayah got up and cautiously made her way to what seemed to be a group forming around somebody.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is _her_ voice we follow! Her _will!_ " A shrill voice cried out, and Darlayah instantly recognised it. "Would you _dare_ risk disobedience? And surely… _punishment?"_

Darlayah pushed through the group of the gathered assassins, and sure enough, Cicero and his massive crate stood there before them. The jester turned to see the Breton, and he grinned darkly.

"So Cicero was correct, hmm?" He drawled, before taking a step towards Darlayah. She felt uncertain, yet pulled her mask of false confidence over herself again.

"Fancy seeing you here." She muttered, facial expression blank.

"Oh! Cicero never forgets a face – but you never had a name! Poor Cicero was never given a name!" He said dramatically, causing Darlayah to roll her eyes.

"Darlayah. Darlayah Dawn-Bringer. You can just call me Dee, I guess." She said, yet her uncertainty must have shown through for Cicero's smile faltered subtly.

"Darlayah! I've been waiting for you." Nazir's voice called out from behind.

"Oh, yeah – I need a word with you." Darlayah replied sternly, turning her back to the jester and heading towards the Redguard.

They both headed to the dining room, where they sat at opposite sides of the table. Darlayah pulled her right sleeve up, revealing massive red splotches where she had been badly bruised from the attempted constriction.

"You never said I had a conjurer on my hands. His gargoyle nearly killed me." Nazir looked shocked at her words, before furrowing his brows. "The conjurer said something about someone else – it sounded to me like someone _told_ him to use a gargoyle. He was waiting for me. What's going on?"

Nazir paused. He obviously had no idea. After a moment of silence, his gaze turned stone cold. "I shall return soon. I clearly need to have a ' _talk'_ with someone." He got up and left, patting the sheath where he kept his sword upon his hip. Darlayah grinned.

* * *

"Ho ho ho, he he he, break that lute across my knee-" Cicero's irritating chant was cut off from a sharp rap on the table by Astrid. Cicero mumbled to himself, now seemingly annoyed.

Dinner at the Sanctuary was rather awkward this night. Without Nazir's cooking expertise and irritatingly amusing jokes, it was quiet and the food was hardly fresh nor delicious. Darlayah simply played with her food, a little uncomfortable since she was sat directly next to Cicero. The jester kept making attempts to warm up to everyone at the table, yet Astrid still constantly shut him up.

"Oh, just give him a break Astrid. It must have been a long journey for him from Cyrodiil." Veezara piped up, causing Astrid to get up and leave. Veezara followed suit, quickly apologising. Darlayah felt sorry for the reptile – he was always so careful to please the leader.

Wait.

Cyrodiil?

Darlayah furrowed her brows for a moment. Cyrodiil was south of Skyrim. Yet the Breton found Cicero right up near Whiterun. The Falkreath Sanctuary was down at the southernmost part of Skyrim, so why did the jester go all the way up to Whiterun and then south again? Did he get lost? Darlayah glanced briefly at the Imperial, who actually now had a rather subtle look of sadness in his eyes. The Breton started feeling rather sorry for him – if he truly did get lost, he must have had a horridly long journey. And the stress of a broken wagon probably didn't help. Knowing this, Darlayah mustered up her strength – applying her shield of confidence once more – and decided to talk to him.

"So, did Lorieus fix your wheel? Was there any trouble?" She asked, picking apart her dinner once more in an attempt to decipher which parts were actually edible. Cicero looked at her, his usual goofy grin returning to his face.

"Oh no, no trouble! Cicero had his wheel fixed in no time! Oh yes, the Night Mother was heading home in no time!" He exclaimed merrily, "Alllll thanks to you!"

Darlayah blushed, not exactly used to such friendliness. "You're welcome, Cicero." Was all she said, before she excused herself from the table and put away her still very full plate.

As the evening drew to a close, Darlayah found herself growing tired. She didn't want to sleep though, for her mind would carve out nightmares for her – something she did not need after a near-death experience.

And so, the Breton lay in her bed and reached into her personal bedside cabinet. There, she pulled out a journal and an inkwell, as well as a soft quill. Writing in her journal was a calming method that usually helped her sleep, but it didn't always work. However, she was always willing to take risks.

 _Fredas 17, Second Seed, 4E 201_

 _It has been quite the odd day today. First, a contract nearly went horribly wrong – I was confronted by a conjurer's gargoyle. I still feel immense pain where it tried to crush me. Second, the strange man I helped on the way to the Sanctuary turned out to be the Keeper – I should have suspected something considering he did whisper 'Hail Sithis' earlier._

Her writing was cut short as she heard a ton of yelling from the floor beneath. It sounded like Cicero and…Astrid. It was no surprise to the Breton, who simply rolled her eyes and continued to write.

Yet she was too tired, and soon, the horrid, grasping talons of slumber reached towards her and forced her into the spiralling embrace of darkness.

* * *

"Darlayah? Darlayah!" Gabriella, the Dark Elf, quickly shook the Breton awake with hurried movements.

She shot up, her forehead dotted with beads of sweat and her lungs working harder than usual. Darlayah looked up at Gabriella with realisation printed all over her face, before she fell back down into her pillow. "Not again." She hissed, covering her face with her hands.

"It's fine, we just got worried." Gabriella said, her tone cold but her eyes warm.

"'We'?" Darlayah repeated, moving her hands.

"Cicero heard you. You must have been loud." Gabriella replied, and pointed to the door that left the shared room. Sure enough, the jester was standing in the door way, looking rather awkward.

"Ugh, this needs to stop." Darlayah moaned. Gabriella thought for a moment.

"You should see the Priests of Mara. You seem well acquainted with them – they should be able to help you become more peaceful or something. Not that I believe in that sort of thing." She mumbled, but Darlayah smiled.

"Since I'm up, I may as well go now. Thanks for waking me." The Breton replied, her false air of confidence fading slightly.

"You should thank that jester too. He may be too exhuberant for my liking, but he at least has the mental capacity to know when something is wrong." With that, she left. Darlayah looked to the doorway, but the jester was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, the Breton decided to clean herself up and change into less intimidating attire – she had somewhere to be.

* * *

 _Later that day._

The ride to Riften was an arduous one. Feeling too tired to ride her own horse, Darlayah had paid a carriage driver to take her to the city – yet even so she still felt the heavy weight of fatigue upon her back when she reached her destination.

As she left the carriage and approached the city gates, a cold expression plastered onto her face as she went. As she reached the massive walls of Riften, she was approached by a guard.

"Halt. You were on a toll road. You will have to pay…fifty septims to pass." Darlayah eyed him with a vicious gaze, before sending her knee flying into the guard's stomach and her fist up into his jaw. The guard's helmet flew off completely and he fell to the floor, groaning and clutching his stomach.

"Oh, uh – D-Dee. Didn't k-know it was you." The 'guard' said. Darlayah knew exactly who he was, and knew that he was a Thieves Guild member. They had…history.

"Shut the fuck up, Galdur." She hissed, before grinning. "Now – may I enter the city? Pretty please?" Her voice sounded as though it were dripping with venom, so Galdur got to his feet and pushed open the gates for her. "Thank you." She added coldly, before quickly smashing her heel down on his foot and walking into the city.

Riften wasn't exactly the nicest city in the lands. It was dirty, dreary and almost constantly raining. Not to mention there were homeless people everywhere and thugs roamed the streets and mugged and burgled in broad daylight. Luckily, Darlayah had no need for a bag and she also had a small iron dagger strapped to her thigh where it was hidden. She was always prepared for a walk in Riften.

As she walked, however, she noticed something seemed amiss. The streets were unusually quiet, and any person who _was_ out had a rather fearful expression. Darlayah quickly wondered if it was her, but nobody should recognise her – she was dressed like a civilian and her warpaint was off. She even made the effort to braid her hair.

As she reached the Temple of Mara, her suspicions were intensified even more. The massive torches outside the temple were dim and dying – yet the priests were always ensuring the fires were burning. Nothing was wet, so it wasn't due to rain. Her heart began to drop as she got even closer.

"Halt. Do not come closer." A guard snapped, holding the handle of his sheathed sword threateningly. Darlayah furrowed her brows.

"I'm not here to cause harm. What's going on?" She asked, trying to hide her anxiousness. She was just so confused – what in the name of Sithis was going on?

The guard sighed, releasing his sword handle and shaking his head grimly.

"The priests of Mara have been murdered."


	2. Chapter 2 - Hunted

"A… _murder?_ " Darlayah couldn't believe it herself. Perhaps the nightmare had not ended? She began to feel dizzy – her ears were ringing and her vision was slightly blurred.

The guard nodded, a grim frown upon his face. "Yes ma'am. Butchered in their own beds last night." He folded his arms, before grinning ever so slightly. "Now I think you ought to turn around and leave – I don't think the Temple are taking visitors right now." His dry gallows humour made Darlayah scowl, and she held back the urge to punch him with tremendous effort.

She then had an idea – she was an assassin, yes? She knew about the ways of death and murder – she knew how to send messages using a kill and could easily tell which weapon was used in a murder. She looked up at the guard, her icy glare upon him.

"Tell you what – if you let me in, I'll help you find the killer. I helped solve the Butcher case in Windhelm – I have experience." She offered, lying ever so slightly. It was in fact Nazir who solved the Windhelm case – the murderer had stolen a Dark Brotherhood kill, so Nazir went to 'sort it out'.

The guard sighed, before shrugging. He opened the doors of the temple, allowing Darlayah inside before quickly announcing to the other guards in the temple that her access was authorised.

As she entered, she realised the scene was worse than she imagined.

Tables were upturned and the benches were burnt and splintered. The statue of Lady Mara was covered with blood – her eyes almost seemed to be _crying_ blood. The sight of her Lady tainted like this made Darlayah wince. The golden painted walls were stained crimson – such blood spatters littered the entire room.

The Breton frowned – this was unusual. Surely a murderer would commit his crime and leave as soon as it was done? If the priests were murdered in their beds, then all this mess would be downstairs where their personal rooms were. There was no evidence of an actual struggle – it was almost as if the criminal had gone on a rampage and trashed the temple for the sake of it. It was as if this was all for _show._ Already Darlayah felt nervous.

One of the guards sniggered, observing Darlayah as she examined each blood stain. "She may as well do our jobs for us." He muttered to the other guard, grinning.

Darlayah spun around upon her heel, folding her arms and frowning. "You two have a job to do, and I suggest you get on with it." She snarled. The guards simply glared and got on with their observations – muttering obscenities about Darlayah that the Breton didn't really want to hear.

She went back to looking around, before noticing something odd about the statue of Mara. There seemed to be blood spatters _behind_ it. Curious and confused, the Breton made her way past fractured furniture and bloodied wood to the statue. Behind it, a massive "D D-B" was painted in blood. Darlayah turned pale instantly, her mind freezing up and her heart threatening to stop. Surely this was a coincidence?

Stuck using the stickiness of the congealed blood was a small, folded piece of parchment. Darlayah shakily reached to grab it, the globules of blood splitting and dripping everywhere as she tore the parchment from the wall. Her shivering fingers unfolded it, and sure enough, she herself was addressed.

 _Darlayah Dawn-Bringer._

 _It has come to my attention that you were once a Blade. With the return of the dragons, I cannot allow you to live. We will be meeting soon, I can assure you._

Darlayah dropped the note, her mind racing with questions and concerns. Somebody knew she would come here. They _knew_ she would investigate. _They knew all about her._ This was planned and Darlayah knew this well.

She was both furious and absolutely terrified. Her entire body was rippling with tremors, yet the Breton couldn't tell if her shivering was due to fear or fury. The two guards within the temple eyed her with concern and suspicion, yet neither tried to stop her when she left with a snarl.

She stormed down the Riften city lanes trying not to panic – she was an _assassin,_ she didn't feel fear! Besides, if she lingered in the Brotherhood sanctuary, whoever was hunting her down would be unable to get her.

So down to the Sanctuary she rode, swift as the insecurity coursing through her mind.

* * *

"Wait, _murdered?"_ Nazir had a look of confusion upon his face as Darlayah explained what had happened. Everyone else at the table stopped eating their meals as Nazir's loud voice caught their attention.

Darlayah shrunk in her seat slightly, her insecurity causing her confidence to fall lower than usual. She simply nodded at Nazir, and gave the other assassins a "mind your own business" glare. Nazir frowned for a moment, before shooting a glance at Astrid and gesturing for her to stand. The two then disappeared out of the dining area, much to Darlayah's confusion. The breton's cheeks turned a scorching red, for all eyes were upon her, until Astrid walked back in alone.

"Darlayah, we need to talk." Astrid commanded in her trademark drawl, before gesturing with her hand for Darlayah to follow. The assassin obeyed, now feeling more afraid than ever.

So much for maintaining her confident and terrifying image.

As the two approached the hallway, Astrid sighed.

"Darlayah, I'm afraid you are now a danger to this sanctuary." She muttered, causing Darlayah to freeze up. "Someone who is clearly dangerous is hunting you down – they seem to know you well, and so they'd most likely co-"

"Come here, I know. But we have the Black Door – whoever is trying to get me won't be able to come in if they don't know the password!" Darlayah pleaded. Astrid frowned.

"They knew something about you that not even _I_ knew, and I believe there is a chance they could know our password. I want you to leave the Sanctuary until all this has blown over."

"But-"

"That's an order, Darlayah."

The Breton sighed, knowing there wasn't much she could do after Astrid made a decision. She was the leader of the Sanctuary, after all. "My word is law" and all that.

She turned back to go find and collect her things from her half of the living quarters, yet as she headed up the stairs, she felt a hand grab onto her shoulder. She froze, her hand reaching for her dagger.

"Woah, woah! Easy, it's me." Nazir let go of Darlayah, throwing his arms up and grinning.

"What do you want?" Darlayah snarled, her hand still resting upon the sheath of her dagger.

"I just had something for you, calm down." Darlayah folded her arms, allowing Nazir to relax. "I did a contract for the owner of the Four Shields Tavern in Dragon Bridge – I got a private reservation as part of my reward. You can stay as long as you like – just tell Faida I sent you."

"Oh, uh, thank you." Darlayah suddenly felt a little bad for snapping, yet her stony facial expression remained cold to hide this.

"Oh, and there's a catch." Nazir grinned again, and his words made Darlayah roll her eyes. "Take that jester with you. We all want him gone for a while. Besides, you might need company in your situation."

He made a fair point, and so Darlayah didn't really have any other choice than to accept. "Fine. But if he so much as makes a noise, I will send him straight back." She growled, yet she couldn't help but grin after. "But thanks." She tacked on quickly, her voice slightly more fragile than usual. She couldn't help but feel vulnerable and sensitive in a time like this, and sudden acts of kindness didn't help this at all.

"Don't mention it. Now grab your stuff and get out." He mused, grinning all the while.

She was quick to grab her things – there was only her journal, an amulet or two and a few writing utensils. Stuffing it into a leather satchel, Darlayah threw the strap across her shoulders, trying her best to tell herself that this was only a temporary thing. Of course, there was also the issue with Cicero. Short tempered and quite vulnerable already, Darlayah began to wonder how long it would be before she stabbed the jester clean through the lung.

"Darlayah!" The jester's shrill voice called out from behind her. "We are going on an adventure, yes? Ooh, how exciting!" Darlayah could almost hear her dagger begging her to use it.

* * *

Dragon Bridge seemed further away than Darlayah remembered. Their two hours of riding had seemed like two weeks.

Darlayah was growing paranoid and weary, and she half considered heading back to Sky Haven temple to continue her Blades research. At least she'd be safe there – and she may even find something to help defeat Alduin.

That got her thinking. The person hunting her down seemed to be searching for Blades specifically. She was one of the last remaining Blades, apart from Esbern and Delphine. They were holed up in Sky Haven temple – searching for anything that could help them destroy Alduin. Of course, they were missing a Dragonborn.

With the ability to absorb a dragon's soul – the only true way to kill a dragon – only the Dragonborn would be able to defeat Alduin. With the only other Blades working on the actual method of slaughter for Alduin, they couldn't help search for the Dragonborn. Perhaps that could be Darlayah's task? It would be far more enjoyable than cowering in fear in some tavern.

She felt more confident with a plan – knowing she had at least _some_ purpose now lifted some of her fear. At least by searching around all of Skyrim, she'd be harder to find. Lingering at a single location would be dangerous for sure.

"Darlayah, watch out!" Cicero suddenly shrieked, causing Dagur to rear and Darlayah to gasp.

A rather short Nord clad in fine clothes was on the road – he must have fallen in front of Dagur's hooves. Darlayah quickly leapt off her steed to aid the stranger, but he seemed to just get up like nothing had happened.

"Don't worry! I'm good!" he chirped with what could be interpreted as a feminine voice, quickly fixing his long, shaggy, blond hair and smiling widely. A tall, brown haired Imperial then leapt out of the trees surrounding the road, looking slightly irritated. His green eyes seemed like those of a venomous snake as he shot a glance at both Darlayah and Cicero.

"Dammit, Kodai – what have you done now?" The Imperial snarled, yet the Nord simply laughed.

"Relax, Lucan." Kodai grinned at the Imperial, before looking back to Darlayah who was evidently uncertain. "Oh, sorry – we're in your way!" He then shoved Lucan into the trees again, before waving at Darlayah and Cicero (who obviously waved back). "Bye! Have a nice journey!"

The two then vanished, leaving Darlayah standing on the road with a confused expression and Cicero still waving at the trees.

"…Right. Better get going again, I guess." The Breton muttered to herself, shaking her head before mounting her horse again.

The ride to Dragon Bridge seemed much swifter at that point. They reached the mighty bridge of stone rather quickly, and Cicero was left mumbling in awe at the "pretty, pretty dragon stones" that were carved into the bridge. They dismounted their horses just next to the bridge before tying them down and heading to the Tavern. Faida, the innkeeper, greeted them as they came through the door.

"Hey," Darlayah approached the counter, leaning over to make sure only Faida could hear what she was saying. She didn't know who was in this Tavern listening, after all. "Nazir said he had a special reservation. I think you know who he is." Darlayah said, her voice low. Faida nodded.  
"Pick a room each and stay as long as you like." Faida said, her smile faltering.

"Oh, one more thing – if anybody asks, you have never seen me before." This time, the Breton's voice was a command – harsh and cold. Faida nodded, now looking somewhat afraid. Cicero chuckled, clearly amused by the way Darlayah was scaring the innocent woman.

The two then chose a room each – on opposite sides of the tavern, of course – and Darlayah found herself feeling so tired and unsettled that all she could do was lie upon the bed and stare at the ceiling. Despite her fatigue, she chose not to sleep. Not that she could sleep if she tried – she could never sleep.

Not since Helgen.

Darlayah winced at the thought of the town, crumbling and decaying – much like the burnt, ashen corpses of those that used to live there.

She was never meant to be in Helgen in the first place – she accidentally crossed the border into Skyrim, and was found by the Imperial legion. She was due to be _executed,_ merely because they believed she was with the Stormcloak convoy that they found nearby. Oh, the Civil War was a horrid thing. She would have accepted her death – she was _prepared_ to die, yet it seemed fate had other plans.

Alduin, dark as the abyss and with eyes that seemed to glow with a scorching gaze, fell upon the town and slaughtered any who dared move. Children were torn to pieces, flesh was burnt and singed, blood stained the stony ground and stones fell from the sky. It was as though the end times had come, yet somehow, Darlayah survived. She was the only one, and for that reason, she couldn't forgive herself. She let so many people _die._

Even now she held a massive fear of Alduin – even the sight of a normal dragon was painful enough. It was Alduin's return that ended her time as a Blade. She was too afraid to do her own duty. And so, she joined the Brotherhood. It was a release for her fear and anger – a way for her to forget her own troubles and become a whole new person.

She sighed as she lay upon the bed, memories playing in a loop within her mind. She would _definitely_ ignore sleep tonight. The nightmares were too awful.

"Hey!" Cicero poked his head through the door, his amber eyes bright and merry and a smile upon his lips. Darlayah looked over at him, offering a mere grunt in response. "Hmm."

He then marched up to Darlayah and sat upon the bedside table, smiling widley. "Cicero can see you are sad. I shall tell about my long, tiring journey – but poor Darlayah does not need to speak a single word!" He chirped, before giving Darlayah a full rundown of his journey.

He did not ask her a single question, and instead sat and spoke to her as if it were a normal conversation. Not having to respond helped the Breton greatly, for she did not need to worry about emotion getting in the way. Having somebody speak to her – however irritating they may be – was somewhat…relaxing.

 **{boom}**

A deep, loud thud alerted Darlayah. Her heart froze yet she felt curious. She left the room rather suddenly, and noticed that a _lot_ of people were in the tavern…all were shivering in terror. Cicero followed after, and he quickly approached the Breton.

"Ooh, can you hear? I know those noises! Oh yes! A dragon has come! A big scary dragon." Cicero said darkly, a devilish grin upon his lips. Darlayah froze, the blood draining from her face.

The ground suddenly trembled – the entire air seemed to shift with a sudden surge in power.

"Thu'um…!" Darlayah quickly recognised the sound and feel of a Shout, and suddenly felt as though returning to her duty as a Blade would be easier than expected. She ran to the door, yet paused. She'd still have to deal with the _dragon._

But if the Dragonborn was out there, she would be able to help stop the dragons for _good_. No more nightmares. No more death. _No more guilt._ That though alone was just enough to quell her surging fear for a few moments.

She quickly smashed open the door with a forceful kick, with Cicero giggling excitedly behind her. He simply watched in the doorway, his head peeking through the door. Darlayah looked around, before she saw the great beast in all its glory.

Deep, green scaled adorned its muscular body, and great horns protruded from its immense skull. Teeth of all sizes stuck out of its open jaws like daggers, and tiny golden eyes seemed as piercing as the gaze of the sun. Its huge size shadowed the small down, and its great feet left soil disturbed and upturned with every step it took towards…

…the Dragonborn.

He was clad in glittering blue Glass armour – seemingly forged with only the finest malachite – and in one hand was a great glass shield, and in the other, a turquoise blue glass sword. Darlayah was briefly amused by his matching gear, but was soon cowering as the dragon took sight of her.

All her fear locked up her reflexes, and she could barely swing the dagger in her shaking hand. She could not move…but she could _Shout_!

" **YOL!** " She cried, sending a gust of flame directly into the dragon's throat as it snarled, ready to attack. It hissed wildly, swinging its colossal head back and snarling to cool its tongue down. Darlayah quickly felt a burst of confidence – _she just used a dragon's power against it!_ Her arm swung towards the beast's tongue as it roared at her, her dagger slicing through the charred flesh like crisp meat. The lump of burnt muscle fell to the ground as the dragon screeched in pain, it's jaws flying straight for Darlayah before suddenly, a glass sword went straight into the temple of the beast's skull. Somehow, the Dragonborn had used Darlayah's attacks as a distraction so he could run up and onto its head. The Breton would have thought this was insanely clever had she not been swallowing back the urge to scream.

The great reptile sunk to the ground with a heavy _thud_ as its skin seemed to slowly burn and rot away. Flesh seemed to disappear before Darlayah's very eyes, before the very _soul_ of the creature rushed from within its bones to the Dragonborn, who was still stood upon the head of the fallen monster.

He truly _was_ the Dragonborn.

Darlayah simply stood in awe, her mouth agape. Cicero clapped wildly, whistling along with his applause.

"Pretty impressive, hmm?" A deep male voice suddenly spoke out next to Darlayah, causing her to gasp and jump. It was Lucan – the Imperial from the woods! He grinned at Darlayah's surprised yet confused expression, before chuckling.

The Dragonborn then leapt off the head of the dead dragon, whisking off his helmet to reveal his messy blond locks. Darlayah furrowed her brows. _Kodai?_

"I thought it was you two I saw over here!" He chirped, before heaving his sword out from the skull of the dragon with a great huff. "Thanks for the help, lady!" He removed his right gauntlet and extended his hand, which Darlayah took and shook slowly and shakily. "So, you can Shout too?" He asked, ice eyes wide in curiosity.

"Well, yeah, but I'm no Dragonborn or anything." Darlayah muttered in response, throwing Cicero a quick "help" glance.

"Dude, that's awesome. You should come help me fight these things." Kodai offered, grinning. Darlayah perked up.

"Actually, I was looking for you." Cicero gave Darlayah a confused glance. "Well, a Dragonborn specifically." She added, shaking her hands by her side to help her stop shivering. "You see, I'm a Blade. I seek to help the Dragonborn defeat Alduin." She held back a shudder. Even his name was somewhat terrifying.

Kodai's eyes widened in awe, yet Lucan stepped forward, shoving the Dragonborn aside to face Darlayah. His height made him overshadow Darlayah, and she felt somewhat nervous in his presence.

"How do we know you aren't out to kill him?" He snarled, green eyes narrowing.

"Good question. Perhaps you should just trust me." She hissed in response, before quickly returning to her original timid demeanour.

"We already have someone out to kill him, we don't want another." His words made Darlayah narrow her eyes, and she quickly recalled a certain event.

"Did you receive a note?" She asked, and Lucan shot Kodai a confused look.

"Yeah…how did you know?" He asked, growing suspicious.

"I received one too." Lucan quickly stepped back, considering her words. He then sighed, allowing Kodai to step up.

"Same guy, huh? Seems like Alduin has a pet." Kodai mused, shrugging. "But we need all the help we can get Miss…uh…?"

"Dawn-Bringer. My name is Darlayah Dawn-Bringer." She replied, her voice low so no-one else could hear. "This is Cicero." Cicero waved at Kodai excitedly, who quickly waved back with just as much merriness.

"Sweet! We got ourselves a lil' party!" Kodai said excitedly, before giving Cicero an eager high-five. Both Lucan and Darlayah looked rather irritated. "Buuut I think you may want to change your clothes, ma'am."

Darlayah glanced at her civilian clothes, stained with dark dragon blood. She sighed, and wandered back into the tavern where all the people gave her shocked and curious stares.

Darlayah came back out a few minutes later with a leather satchel filled with her things and a new change of clothes on. However, it would not be enough to hold against dragons, so a visit back home was necessary to grab her armour.

As she left, she quickly gasped.

Lucan had Cicero in a headlock, and Kodai was rolling on the floor laughing.

"By the Gods, let him go!" Darlayah hissed, and Lucan quickly looked up and released the giggling jester, a sheepish look upon his face.

"He's so fucking annoying." Lucan offered as an excuse, but Darlayah simply rolled her eyes.

"Nobody touches the jester." She growled, and Lucan sighed.

"Fiiiine." He mumbled, before giving Cicero a rather furious glare.

It was going to be one of those journeys, huh?

Darlayah gave a stern look to the Dragonborn, who quickly became silent and pulled himself up off the ground, nearly hitting his head on the wing of the massive dragon skeleton nearby. Cicero quickly silenced himself too, knowing he would be next for Darlayah's stern-mother-glare.

"Look, we need to head to Whiterun – I have to grab my armour. Can't fight dragons in this." She told the three, who seemed to show no signs of resisting this decision. Except Kodai.

"Uh, I need to head up to High Hrothgar then – gotta tell those Greybeards what I'm doing." Darlayah frowned.

"Bad idea."

"Huh?"

Darlayah shrugged. "The Greybeards aren't fond of the Blades. They won't like this much."

"Eh, they don't need to know." The Nord grinned. "Just gonna tell them that we are gonna search for clues on how to find Aldy."

"Aldy?"

"Alduin!" Kodai mused, before giggling. Cicero snorted behind him, obviously holding back a chuckle.

"Ugh, whatever. I'll meet you in the Bannered Mare in Whiterun at sundown. I have a place you may want to see." Darlayah whispered, quickly noticing a crowd forming around them. Dragons seem to be brilliant people-attractors. Ugh.

Lucan and Kodai exchanged glances before nodding at Darlayah and setting off. Cicero waved goodbye as they went, a rather disappointed expression on his face.

"We'll see dragon-man again, yes? Cicero likes him, oh yes! Cicero likes him indeed!" He said merrily, and Darlayah couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, we just need to grab me some proper gear. I have some armour you can borrow if you want – I used to steal a load of armour before realising half of it was for men." She grinned, and Cicero suddenly seemed excited. "Come on, let's go."

After searching half of the entire Haafingar hold, Darlayah and Cicero found their frightened horses and rode down to Whiterun. The journey home was somewhat short and uneventful, yet Darlayah was silent the entire time. She was filled with worry and regret, and couldn't stop wondering if returning to her duty as a Blade was even the right thing to do. Of course, she now had two extra bodyguards – something that Darlayah kind of needed at a time like this. Besides, she didn't exactly have to _fight_ dragons – after that experience with the dragon in Dragon Bridge, Darlayah wanted to stay as far away from dragons as possible – she could just play the part of the intellect and offer the research she used to work on. She had lists of dragons slain, maps of burials, locations of recent dragon attacks and even a Dovahzul dictionary she created herself with the help of the Greybeards. She knew quite a few of the words off by heart now, yet her learning was cut short when the Greybeards found out who she was.

Darlayah winced. That wasn't a nice memory at all.

As they approached Whiterun, Darlayah noticed the Western Watchtower outside the city was totally destroyed. Several guards were investigating the scene, and Darlayah couldn't help but approach out of curiosity.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice gentle and smooth. A guard looked up at her and sighed.

"Dragon attack. Big green thing – it just came out of the sky. Rogvir over there says a man was riding it, but that's nonsense." Darlayah narrowed her eyes, completely confused.

"Where's this Rogvir?" The guard pointed to another man, who lacked his helmet. "Thanks."

She rode over, her mind alight with questions and demands. A man, riding a _dragon?_ Impossible, surely!

"Hey, you're Rogvir, yeah?" Darlayah asked, and the guard nodded. "Did you really see someone riding the dragon?"

"Yes! I swear, I am not a liar. There was an armoured man on that beast!" He pleaded, but Darlayah only felt more confused than before.

"What did this dragon look like?"

"Big, dark green with eyes like fire." Darlayah froze. That was the dragon she just saw being slain.

"Hmm. That dragon was slain earlier." She told him, and Rogvir sighed in relief.

"Thank Talos for that." He muttered, before wandering to inform the others of the news.

Darlayah, however, simply sat upon her steed in complete confusion. Even Cicero, who was some distance away, had a bit of a confused look upon his face. Heading back to the stables, Darlayah kept this information in her mind for the Dragonborn. He'd like to know about this.

Yet as she turned to go back, she was suddenly stopped by a man draped in black clothing. Naturally, Darlayah froze and Dagur snorted. Cicero quickly rode up, his hand placed upon his dagger. The man then spoke up.

"I've been searching for you, Darlayah."


End file.
